


Jim & Son Lobster Co.

by thecommodore_squid (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Depression, Firefighter Bucky Barnes, Gen, Just Two Pals Trying To Figure It All Out, Lobster Farm, Lobsters Are Terrifying, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pomegranates: The Illusive Metaphor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sam Isn't Here Yet But He Will Be Shortly, War Veteran Natasha Romanov, War Veteran Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 13:44:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9900851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thecommodore_squid
Summary: "Do you know how to farm lobsters?""No.""Then why'd you buy it?"Natasha's shrug was audible. "It just seemed like the thing to do."AKAAn AU in which Natasha buys a lobster farm, and Steve moves to Nova Scotia to help her figure it out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay I've got a few disclaimers here.
> 
> I've never owned a lobster farm. I've never been to a lobster farm. I've never even eaten a lobster. All lobster/lobster farm knowledge comes from google and Wikipedia, and tbh I'm not really aiming to be accurate to a T. Mostly just aiming to have a good time in a fictional lobster farm.
> 
> My chapters are gonna be hella short, and the updating schedule is gonna be noncommittal cuz I'm having some writing issues. But this is a project, and it's a project I have zero intentions of abandoning.
> 
> Also, this isn't gonna be a slash fic. That's just not what I'm feeling atm.
> 
> All mistakes are my own. Comments and kudos make the world spin.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Steve had been back for approximately three minutes when his burner phone started to ring.

 

“Hello?” he said warily into the receiver, staring stiffly at the wall.

 

“Hey.”

 

“Who’s this?”

 

“It’s me. Listen. I’ve gotta talk to you about—“

 

“No, like. _Who_ is this?”

 

“Dude.”

 

“What.”

 

“What.”

 

“Name,” Steve finally said, frustrated.

 

“It’s Natasha.”

 

Steve paused, then relaxed, slumping against the doorframe. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

 

“I dunno,” Natasha said, and now that blood wasn’t rushing in his ears, he could hear her voice. “Listen. I’ve gotta talk to you about something.”

 

“Sure,” Steve said, picking absently at his shirt.

 

“How do you feel about Nova Scotia?”

 

“Never been,” Steve said. “But it has a cool name.”

 

“You should move here. With me.”

 

“Um.”

 

“I may or may not have purchased a lobster farm.”

 

Steve frowned. “Um. Why.”

 

“I dunno.”

 

“Do you know how to farm lobsters?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why’d you buy it?”

 

Natasha’s shrug was audible. “It just seemed like the thing to do.”

 

Steve sighed through his nose. “Jeez, Nat.”

 

“Do _you_ know how to farm lobsters?”

 

“No.”

 

“Come help me.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

 

“Great,” Natasha said and hung up.

 

Steve didn’t ask how she got his phone number. He just threw it in a trash can on the way to the VA.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m moving to Nova Scotia,” Steve told Tony. “You can lease the room to someone else.”

 

“’Kay,” Tony said, his eyes sharp and perceptive. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “You?”

 

“Always.”

 

“Cool.”

 

Tony held out his fist, and Steve bumped it. “Be safe out there. Gimme a call.”

 

“Will do.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha was waiting for him at the train station, wearing these goddamn yellow overalls over a green shirt. “Hey.”

 

“Lobster farm outfit?”

 

“I was doing a google search,” Natasha said, “and overalls came up. They inspired me.”

 

“I like it.”

 

“Thanks.” Natasha grabbed Steve’s duffle bag, and Steve knew better than to protest as she slung it over her shoulder. “Headquarters is twenty-seven miles away. Thirty-eight-minute drive with no traffic.”

 

“Cool,” Steve said, hefting his backpack.

 

“I’ve got a van. Don’t laugh when you see it.”

 

They walked outside, and Steve felt goosebumps raise on his arms, hidden by his hoodie. He hadn’t thought about weather. Nova Scotia was like Maine except, well, even colder, right?

 

The van wasn’t hard to miss. It had a big cartoonish lobster on the side, wearing sunglasses next to obnoxious bubble text that read: JIM & SON LOBSTER CO.

 

“Jim and Son?” Steve asked wryly.

 

“They’re who sold it to me,” Natasha said. “Jim is an old guy who just wanted to retire. His son wanted to move to Toronto to try to be a drag queen.”

 

“Huh,” Steve said.

 

“Very sweet fellas,” Natasha agreed, throwing Steve’s duffle in the back seat. Steve sat in the passenger’s side as Natasha climbed into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview by a centimeter to the left. She put on sunglasses even though the day was dim and cloudy. “HQ also doubles as a residence.” She smiled at him. “Two bedrooms, a laundry room, a living room, and a kitchen above the business.”

 

“And a bathroom, I suppose.”

 

“Yeah. But only one. So, I hope you won’t faint at the tampons in the cabinets.”

 

“I’ll try to be strong,” Steve deadpanned.

 

“It’s pretty small for a lobster farm, from what I understand,” Natasha said as she pulled out of the parking lot. “I dunno if we’ll need to hire people, but I think we can manage for now if Jim and Son and One Friend managed before.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“There’s not a lot of people around HQ, but we do have one neighbor about a quarter mile away. I don’t think he likes me very much, so we should send him a lobster.”

 

“Why?”

 

“They’re terrifying,” Natasha said gleefully.

 

Steve shook his head in wonder. “If they’re scary, why’d you buy the farm?”

 

Natasha shrugged. “Somebody’s gotta do it.”

 

Steve shivered—not from the cold. Natasha whacked him on the arm in show of support. “Right.”

 

“You should repaint the van,” Natasha mused a minute later. “You paint, right?”

 

“I did,” Steve said slowly.

 

“We’re still technically Jim & Son Lobster Co., but we can try to come up with a new name.”

 

“I think that’d be best.”

 

Natasha smiled.

 

 

* * *

 

 

HQ was a squat building, not much wider than the VA.

 

“Home sweet home,” Natasha said as they stood by the van. She grabbed Steve’s duffle. “I’ll show you around.”

 

The bottom floor hosted a gigantic refrigerator at the first left from the entrance. “To store the lobsters,” Natasha said. “I googled it.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes.

 

There was a big room with shelves of lobster food. “There’s a chart somewhere in here,” Natasha said, “about how much food to give the lobsters when. But I don’t know where I put it.”

 

“Jeez, Nat,” Steve sighed.

 

Another room stored a bunch of fishing equipment that Steve had seen in movies and TV shows. And the room across from that was a little office with three desks and a coffee maker.

 

“Upstairs is where we live.”

 

“Is it gonna smell like this all the time?”

 

“Smell like what?” Natasha asked innocently.

 

“Ugh.”

 

Upstairs, there were two bedrooms connected by a single bathroom, a kitchen, and a little living room with a TV.

 

“I got the bigger room,” Natasha said.

 

“Okay.”

 

She threw his duffle at him. “Make yourself at home.”

 

Steve walked into his room and evaluated it.

 

The bed was a double, so it would be roomy. That was good. There was a little closet where he could stuff his minimal wardrobe. There was a tiny desk by the window with a comfortable-looking swivel chair. And a narrow bookshelf crammed between the desk and a wall.

 

Steve unpacked in twenty minutes, maybe. He didn’t have a whole lot of shit.

 

As he was plugging in his new burner phone to charge, he lifted his head only to make eye contact with a cat.

 

“Fuck,” Steve hissed, heart hammering as he slowly unclenched his fist. “You scared the shit outta me.”

 

The cat glared at him.

 

“I see you’ve met Liho,” Natasha said conversationally from Steve’s doorway.

 

“Liho,” Steve repeated dumbly, not taking his eyes off the cat.

 

“My cat.”

 

“Since when do you have a cat?”

 

“Since none-of-your-business.”

 

Liho hissed at Steve and leapt daintily from his bed before stalking over to Natasha. He rubbed his face against her leg and _purred_.

 

“Demon cat,” Steve grumbled under his breath as his heartrate finally started to slow.

 

Liho meowed, almost in protest. Natasha leaned down and ran her fingers along his back. “He’s here to herd the lobsters.”

 

“A sheep-cat?” Steve deadpanned.

 

“For lobsters. Except he hates water.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes.

 

Natasha sat down on Steve’s bed. “Right now, we can do one of several things.”

 

“I’m listening,” Steve said, closing his eyes.

 

“We could go figure out how to run a lobster farm.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“We could introduce you to the neighbor.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“We could watch movies all night and order take-out.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Or we can drive into town, and I can show you around.”

 

Steve hummed in the back of his throat. “Let’s research lobsters and then watch movies.”

 

“I knew you were my favorite master strategist for a reason,” Natasha said fondly. “Do you have a laptop?”

 

“No.”

 

“I don’t have internet.”

 

Steve opened his eyes and looked at Natasha. “Why not?”

 

“Didn’t seem important until yesterday.” She flashed her phone screen. “I used up my data for the month.”

 

Steve groaned. “We’ll get Wi-Fi tomorrow.”

 

“In the meantime, there’s always Starbucks.”

 

Steve forced himself to his feet. “Okay.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Starbucks was underwhelming and sparsely crowded.

 

Steve and Natasha found an empty seat for them to crowd around Natasha’s laptop.

 

They read the entire first page of websites that google had on lobster farming, and then the Wikipedia page on lobsters.

 

It was exhausting.

 

“I’m done for the day,” Steve said tiredly.

 

“Great,” Natasha said, not sounding the least-bit weary. “Movies?”

 

“Movies.”

 

They went home and fell asleep on opposite sides of the little couch to _He’s Just Not That into You_.

 

When Steve woke up gasping, his feet pinned down by Natasha’s hands, they said nothing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve met Natasha on a spec ops mission in Venezuela.

 

He trusted her with his life.

 

They had killed for each other and had nearly died for each other. They were partners and could read each other like a favorite book.

 

But Steve had never seen Natasha laugh at a movie or talk to a cat in a falsetto.

 

They were bathed in blood, both of them.

 

Steve supposed that it was how things were meant to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“We need to get Wi-Fi and lobsters,” Natasha said as she rummaged through the refrigerator, “and eggs. And vegetables. And—“

 

“A grocery run would be good,” Steve agreed, frowning at the contents of the fridge over Natasha’s shoulder.

 

“You’re looming. Don’t loom,” Natasha muttered, scowling as she elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

 

Steve stepped back, frowning. “I don’t ‘loom.’”

 

“Steve Rogers, there’s not been a day of your life where you haven’t loomed.” Steve opened his mouth to protest. “And don’t say when you were small! You loomed then too. I’ve seen the pictures.”

 

Steve smiled fondly and wandered to the other side of the kitchen. “Fair enough. I’ll get groceries if you call the Wi-Fi people.”

 

“Cool,” Natasha said, closing the fridge. “Are you good to drive?” Her tone was casual, but her eyes were hard.

 

“Yep,” Steve said, just as casually, popping the P.

 

“Also,” Natasha sighed, “for god’s sake, get a real phone.”

 

“No.”

 

“You are going to waste all of Jim & Son Lobster Co.’s funds on burner phones every other week.”

 

“I’m using my own money.”

 

“Your own money is now officially Jim & Son Lobster Co.’s money.”

 

Steve shot Natasha a glare. “Dude.”

 

Natasha’s eyebrow shot up.

 

“’Kay,” Steve mumbled, holding up his arms.

 

Natasha looked away and picked up her phone, tapping at the keyboard. “Get me some cookies at the grocery store.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve didn’t like crowds or public places very much anymore, so he was glad Natasha had picked a blessedly small town.

 

Mostly moms and a few old people wandered the isles of the grocery store, and Steve didn’t necessarily relax as he gripped the bar of his shopping cart, but he didn’t have to devote 110% of his attention to safety.

 

He filled the shopping cart with the Necessities and Natasha’s favorite foods, mostly. He paused by the pomegranates and contemplated them for a full five minutes before slowly adding one to the cart.

 

It wasn’t a big deal except for in all of the ways that it was.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Wi-Fi guy is here,” Natasha said when Steve picked up the phone as he drove back to HQ.

 

“How do you keep finding my number?” Steve demanded half-heartedly.

 

“Bye.”

 

The line went dead.

 

Steve shook his head helplessly, a smile heedlessly curling at his lips.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Scott Lang,” Wi-Fi guy said to Steve when he arrived. “Nice to meet you.”

 

“Likewise,” Steve said and turned to finish putting away the groceries.

 

“Cookie me,” Natasha said, sitting on top of the counter. Steve threw the box of cookies at her, and she smiled.

 

Scott Lang the Wi-Fi Guy also smiled. “Your network name is—“

 

“Can we choose it?” Steve asked mildly.

 

“Uh. Yeah, sure. What d’you want it to be?”

 

“Lobster Bitches,” Natasha said.

 

“Jeez, Nat,” Steve huffed, and Natasha threw up a peace sign.

 

“You got any better ideas?”

 

Steve thought for a minute. “Jim & Son Lobster Bitches.”

 

Natasha snorted, then coughed into her fist.

 

“Lobster Bitches,” Scott Lang the Wi-Fi Guy echoed, tapping at his tablet. “We can do that. Password?”

 

Natasha wiped a hand on her yoga pants and tapped on Scott’s tablet. “That.”

 

“What?” Steve asked.

 

Natasha grinned. “It’s lihokicksass9lives. No caps, no spaces.”

 

Steve shook his head wordlessly.

 

“’Kay,” Scott Lang the Wi-Fi Guy said very neutrally, with the air of a man who had seen many stupid Wi-Fi names and passwords in his life.

 

Steve stared at his pomegranate for a moment before opting for a banana.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“How do we get lobsters?” Steve asked, staring at the ceiling.

 

Natasha tapped at her laptop somewhere next to him. “I think we need a hatchery dude.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“I’m searching up nearby hatcheries.”

 

“Find anything good?”

 

“No. Wait—“ Natasha squinted at her screen like she did when she was weighing pros and cons. “This one is local, environmentally sustainable, and I don’t think the finances would kill us.”

 

“Who did Jim & Son deal with?”

 

“Not sure. I can call them if you want to check.”

 

Steve sat up. “It’s up to you.”

 

The doorbell rang, and both of them reached for a weapon that wasn’t there. Steve was left empty-handed and tense, and Natasha was left clutching a discarded high-heeled shoe, eyes alert.

 

“A visitor,” Steve said after a minute, clearing his throat.

 

Natasha stood and pulled Steve to his feet, not dropping the shoe.

 

Steve hovered at Natasha’s six as they made their way to the front door. Natasha stood on her tiptoes to peek through the peephole and relaxed marginally. “It’s the neighbor,” she said, falling back down to be flat on her feet.

 

Steve shoved his hands into his pockets as Natasha cautiously opened the door.

 

The man stood on their porch, scowling through dark strands of hair. He was tall and muscular—almost a match for Steve, and he found himself automatically squaring his shoulders.

 

“Listen,” the man said, not looking up. “I think I may owe you an—“ His eyes flicked up, and his gaze sharpened.

 

“James,” Natasha said, voice neutral. Diplomatic. She inclined her head slightly. “This is Steve.”

 

James nodded, straightening a little bit. “Bucky,” he said, nodding tersely.

 

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Hi.”

 

James/Bucky cleared his throat, looking back at Natasha. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “I made cookies.” Bucky’s voice was rough and low and quiet, and he thrust a plate covered in saran wrap at Natasha.

 

Natasha took them and smiled. “All is forgiven.” She glanced back at Steve and saw the question in his expression. “James threw a bowl at me.”

 

“Um,” Steve said.

 

“It was an accident. She startled me. I was expecting _Jim_.” Bucky’s scowl deepened.

 

“Do you want to come in and share the cookies?” Natasha asked after a pause in which Steve and Bucky sized each other up critically.

 

Bucky looked surprised, and then _shy_. The look was curiously fitting on such a gruff-looking person. “Okay.”

 

Steve put himself between Bucky and Natasha as they walked to the kitchen.

 

Natasha rolled her eyes at him but didn’t protest because this was what they did for each other.

 

Steve took a cookie suspiciously, but after the first bite, he concluded that they were _fucking delicious_ and abandoned his wariness for the moment.

 

“So,” Bucky said, clearing his throat, looking terrible awkward. “What happened to Jim and Alex?”

 

“Jim retired,” Steve said as Natasha said, “Alex went to be a drag queen.”

 

Bucky blinked. “Oh.” He cleared his throat and slowly took a cookie.

 

“Meow,” Liho said and jumped onto the counter.

 

Bucky took a step back, eyes on the cat. “You have a cat.”

 

“Yes,” Natasha said, feeding Liho half of her cookie.

 

“Is that healthy?”

 

“None of your business.”

 

Bucky glared.

 

Natasha’s gaze flicked lazily between Steve and Bucky. Steve felt as though Natasha was informing him that he had to continue the conversation. Steve took another cookie. “What brings you here?” he asked.

 

Bucky frowned. “What d’you mean?”

 

“You have a Brooklyn accent,” Steve explained.

 

“So do you,” Bucky muttered, staring at him darkly. “I could be askin’ the same thing.”

 

Steve frowned. “Fine, then.”

 

Natasha sighed audibly and turned to get herself a glass of water.

 

Bucky’s shoulders sagged a little bit. “I’m the chief of the fire department here. Got transferred a couple’a times ‘til I was offered a job here.” He shrugged. “Didn’t have a reason to say no.”

 

“Cool,” Steve said. “Fires are nasty.”

 

“Yes,” Bucky agreed, hiding behind a cookie. “What about you?”

 

“I’m helping with the lobster farm.”

 

“How’s that workin’ out for you.”

 

Steve shrugged. “Fine.”

 

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Natasha asked absently.

 

“Ah.” Bucky winced. “I’ve got a shift.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Bucky took a step away, shoving hands into his pockets. “Well. If you ever need a cup of sugar,” he said, and his lips twitched upwards for a second.

 

Natasha nodded. “We know where to find you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you wanna call the hatchery or should I call ‘em?” Steve asked, hanging upside-down off the couch.

 

“You do it. I’m eating,” Natasha said.

 

Steve swallowed down the lump in his throat and dialed.

 

“Hello.”

 

“Hi,” Steve said. “I’m—uh—do you have lobster?”

 

“Larvae?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“’Course. Who are you with?”

 

“Jim & Son Lobster Co.”

 

There was a sound of shuffling. “How many do you want?”

 

“What do you suggest?”

 

“How big is your farm?”

 

Steve glanced at Natasha. She rolled her eyes. “The lake is, like, an acre.”

 

“An acre.”

 

“About ten thousand, then.”

 

Steve blinked in surprise. “Oh.”

 

“I can come by on Monday to talk shop with you guys some more.”

 

“Sure, yeah.”

 

“Good talk,” the guy said and hung up.

 

Steve tossed the phone across the room. “He’s coming over on Monday.”

 

“Alright,” Natasha sighed.

 

Steve nudged Natasha with his foot. Natasha didn’t look up from her bowl of oatmeal. “I didn’t get his name.”

 

Natasha scowled, rolling her shoulders. “You know better.”

 

“Are you trying to be normal?” Steve blurted out.

 

Natasha side-eyed him. She clearly knew exactly what he was talking about—about the nightmares and the hypervigilance and the rabbit heartbeat and the flashbacks. “I don’t know,” she said blandly.

 

Steve closed his eyes. Maybe if Natasha didn’t do a background check on this hatchery dude, she wouldn’t need to do more background checks in the future.

 

But that wouldn’t work in the same way that Steve knew he wouldn’t stop recycling cheap phones if Natasha actually asked for his number.

 

Steve huffed a sigh and glanced at Natasha’s open laptop on the floor. It was busy trying to load approximately thirty tabs of information about lobsters, and Natasha was eating oatmeal and staring vacantly into space.

 

He wondered if they’d be able to do this when they actually had lobsters in the water out back. If they’d be able to lie around and do nothing half the day, or do nothing but pace and check the perimeter half the day. Steve had a certain lifestyle that he’d cultivated in the few days he’d stayed with Tony, and he didn’t want to abandon it. He didn’t think he could.

 

Natasha slowly heaved to her feet. “I’m grabbing a cookie. Do you want one?”

 

Steve thought about the pomegranate still in the fridge, but the idea died on his tongue. “Sure.”

 

Natasha patted him on the head as she shuffled to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> For discourse and all that jazz, [I'm on tumblr](https:www.tumblr.com/blog/thecommodoresquid).


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